


His Legacy

by Queenbookworm13



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Closure, I hurt my feels doing it but it was worth it, I needed this after watching it all because of reasons, Spoilers, mentions of tiny details and some not so tiny so SPOILERS if you haven't finished, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenbookworm13/pseuds/Queenbookworm13
Summary: I needed closure at the end of the series so I wrote this almost as soon as I finished watching the last episode. I sat on it for a long time and then rewatched the series and added a bit to it. I hurt my feelings writing it, but it was something I needed so...if anyone else was feeling what I was feeling, hopefully this helps you too.





	His Legacy

Sibyl paused from her work and went to stand at the backdoor, watching her little boy play with the small girl in the yard. They were running around, happily chasing one another and the butterflies that flew about looking for the sweet nectar the fruit trees held this time of year. Laeta, who was seated mending a shirt, watched over them at a closer distance. She paused from her work to glance at Sibyl, giving her a small warm sisterly smile before turning her eyes to fondly gaze upon the children. The little girl paused and waved at Sibyl when she noticed her staring; giving her the same smile as the sweet rounded face her mother had only a few moments before. She took off laughing as she pretended to be a frog with Sibyl’s beautiful precious boy. Her son.

His son.

Her hands went to her belly, forever empty from him and any more children they could ever have. The thought pained her, but she took comfort in the gift she had been given from the Gods: the only known child of Gannicus. Her womb had taken his seed the last night they shared before he left her arms forever. She had longed to see his body and ensure it had been laid to rest, but she had been too fearful of being discovered and re-enslaved. She had crossed the mountains, her heart longing for him to follow, yet heard the news not long after upon the road and felt herself sick with sorrow. Nashir had been the one to help her realise it was safer to stay in the little community they had made than risk leaving; especially when she found herself swelling with life.

“Mommy!” the little girl sobbed, having fallen down and hurt her elbow.

“Oh no,” Laeta said sympathetically and gently kissed her wound when it was presented. “Better?”

She nodded and sniffed, rubbing the tears from her eyes. Laeta helped brush the rest away as she continued to gently sooth her.

Sibyl looked over her shoulder at the pot over the fire in the large hearth Agron had built a few months ago. It was smoking and she hurried to use a heavy cloth to lift the lid and stir the food inside. The stew had thickened well and it made her mouth water. Since gaining her freedom, and the steady flow of food into her life, any remote remembrance of the hell she had suffered before frightened her. Anything that felt as if she were coming close to the stomach turning forced insomnia or the hunger that used to gnaw at her backbone would cause her to wake from dreams that left her sometimes shaking with sweat drenched sheets and frantic tears.

To cope she would just close her eyes and think of the first harvest of their hard labour. It had come at no easy price, much as any labour, and they had stuffed themselves nearly sick and barely had any food left for winter. Thankfully Laeta’s good wisdom helped remedy the situation and they managed with what little they had until the ground could be given life once more.

“How goes it?” Agron asked coming into the home. He was covered in earth and sun kissed by the hard work of the past few weeks.

“It will be done by evening,” she smiled and replaced the lid. “How is the work coming?”

“Nashir assures the figs will bear decent fruit and the spinach will not wither during the dryer months.”

“A feast we shall have,” she beamed excited for such.

Agron smiled shyly. It was good to see it, for his transition from gladiator to domestic life had not been an easy task. She knew that although he still longed for the glory of battle, he still woke frightened in the dead of night, as they all did. Even Laeta had her fair share of horrific things that woke her from peaceful dreams. Sibyl would find her sitting by her daughter’s side and go to sit beside her, giving her any comfort she could. Laeta did it often enough for her with her son, it was the least she could do.

“Mama!”  Little Gannicus said coming in.

“Yes?” she asked him.

“Duro hit me,” he whined.

“Well that was not very kind,” she agreed sympathetically.

“Did you give him cause?” Agron asked.

Sibyl gave him a disapproving look as her son denied having done anything wrong, but Agron just laughed and then picked Gannicus up; turning him upside down. “I shall speak with him,” he promised and tickled the boy’s belly. Gannicus wiggled and laughed, pleading for him to cease, but he did not until Sibyl stepped in and gently rescued her son.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked him.

“Here,” he said showing her his shoulder.

“Poor thing,” she said and kissed it.

“You and Laeta will make him soft,” Agron sighed with mild disapproval.

“And you will turn our boy to stone,” Nashir said from the door where he had the dark skinned boy they had adopted by the upper arm. “Come, we must converse over penalty for actions.”

“Penalty for actions,” Agron cringed and then made a silly face to Duro. “I remember a time when such words sent a man to sands.”

“Such time is over,” Nashir said giving his lover a sad gaze. “We make our lives peaceful to ensure our children’s will be as well; just as those who gave theirs before ensured ours.”

Agron looked down ashamed. “Apologies,” he mumbled and then motioned for the door. “Let us discuss what happened and seek to not repeat past mistakes.”

This pleased Nashir, who gave him a small smile, but only soured Duro’s pouty face further.

“Mama,” Gannicus said after she set him down.

“Yes?” she asked him, and continued with her tasks.

“What was daddy like?”

It made her pause; her chest seizing painfully. She closed her eyes and tried not to let him see the sadness there. “Your father?” she asked him and cleared her throat. She knew these questions would start again, but it felt as if they had only just ended and she wished he would give her a little bit longer without them. “He was a good man.”

“Did he love us?” he asked climbing carefully onto a bench to watch her work.

“Yes,” she smiled fondly, recalling the way he gazed at her, how he touched her, loved her, fucked her. No, not fucked: worshiped. She felt her body flush with desire and she had to set the knife down and hold her belly a little, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as she fought back the ache within her. She never wanted to love or have another the way she loved and had him. She could not stomach it, not even when possibility presented itself could she go through it.

“Mommy?” he asked her in a worried tone.

“Apologies,” she whispered and sniffed. “Sometimes memory is painful; no matter how sweet it is to recall such.” She came and sat beside him, gently tucking his hair behind his ear. He looked the perfect image of a younger version of her husband and she prayed to the Gods that he would keep such handsome countenance; yet not favour drink and whoring as heavily as his father had. She selfishly wanted to keep him sweet and innocent as she had been once. As he was now. “Your father, loved us greatly,” she began and felt her words stick a bit in her throat. “So greatly, he gave his life to keep us safe.”

“I miss him,” he said sadly.

“As do I,” she said and kissed his cheek. “But we will join him one day,” she promised. “Let us not make it so swift a reunion though. Let us savour the victory he fought hard for us to have a while longer, hm?” she asked.

He nodded in agreement and then sighed and turned towards the table. “I am hungry,” he complained.

She chuckled. Yes, so much like his father. As she returned to her work she wondered if Laeta struggled as much when it came to raising Seraphina. Did she see the similarities between her daughter and Spartacus? Did they sometimes make her bones hurt from how intense the sorrow ached? Did they keep her up late into the night weeping and praying for just one last caress? One final kiss? A sign or something that suggested they were still close, even if they could not take flesh again.

Sibyl looked at her son then and realised she had what she had often sought out from the Gods: her son. He was an ever present wonderful reminder of the great man who had loved and sacrificed so much for so many and for a cause he had not fully believed in until the very end.

That night, as she tucked him into bed, she gave him extra kisses and then went to her bed and prayed. She felt a strange yet familiar chill fill the room and wondered if it were her own imagining desires or if it was a sign he had come to stand beside her and see how they were doing.

“I pray you did not suffer in the end,” she whispered and kissed the necklace she had traded nearly the rest of her valuables for to obtain. She would have recognised it anywhere, and when the man had said he had taken it from a crucified body along the road to Rome a few years ago, she immediately began throwing what little of wroth she had at him to get it. He had been confused as to why she needed it so badly, but gave in to a trade regardless. She planned to give it to their son when he came of age.

_I did not suffer,_ she suddenly thought and frowned confused. She remembered what she had said a moment before and smiled, hoping that was not her imagining, but a true sign the Gods had let him reach her from beyond.

She went to check on her son and found him sleeping in a position she had often found his father. She softened her laugh and could not resist pressing a kiss to his forehead. So much like his father…

“He will make us proud,” she whispered, wondering if Gannicus’s spirit was still present. “He may not be the warrior you were, but he will be worthy of your name and blood.”

A gentle breeze went through the house and caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and imagined it was his warm hand along her shoulders and relaxed. She was certain she would see him again. Until then, she had their child to raise and his legacy to continue.


End file.
